


Frostbite

by Moonwaffle



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Biting, F/M, Light Bondage, Loki-centric, Marvel Universe, Pain, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:53:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4496097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonwaffle/pseuds/Moonwaffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader has been taken hostage by Loki on Asgard while Thor is in Midgard.  Reader was part of a resistance effort.</p><p>Gift for my best friend, because of a late-night text conversation.  Hope you like it, you wonderful weirdo!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frostbite

You're struggling.  It's cold and damp and the binding around your wrists is too damn tight. You honestly started wishing a week ago for the straw pillow they had given you, but taken away as you tried to pick the lock with a particularly strong bit of it.  Madness is creeping in around the edges of your mind, clouding your thoughts with demons made out of the flickering candlelight and the soft  _tap-tap-tap_ of shoes in the distance...

You shake your head.  It's nonsense.  No one's been down to see you for days.  Why would they now?

But still, you hear the tapping.  It grows louder and louder until you hear the creak of a wooden door, hinges rusty with age.  You see a flash of black fabric at the corner of your vision, but it goes out of view, into a corner.  Suddenly, there's a flash of light and a warm glow from the lantern the black fabric must have lit.

When your eyes adjust, he's standing there.

At first, you just try to take him in. The long black hair, and those stunningly sharp eyes.  The kind of eyes that can see right through you.  You look farther down and see the rich, forest green tunic he's wearing, with a long black cape and a pair of black trousers.  Casual, but made with obviously fine cloths and craftsmanship.  You look down at your own white cotton dress, dirty from the mold and mud of the dungeon, and feel suddenly very small.

He unlocks your cell door and steps inside.  You feel like a caged prisoner, in your barred cell, but even more so when he towers above you like that.  He's staring down at you, as if expecting you to say something.  You cough and clear your throat, and words feel strange after weeks of disuse.

"Y-your Majesty," you say.  He merely glares.

After a long pause, he speaks with a voice that sends shivers down your spine. "You have something I want.  Information.  My spies tell me that you and your band of upstarts have plans to storm the palace, and I need you to tell me what you know."

You pause, gathering your thoughts. "You want me to tell YOU information?  Why, Your Highness?  Are you SCARED of my little band of, how did you put it... upstarts?"

You hear the slap before you feel it.  You're on the ground clutching your face when he kicks you, hard, in the torso. "You WILL tell me what you know!"  It's an order, a sharp blade of an order that cuts your pride in pieces.  You glare up at him from the ground. "Never," you spit.

He kneels down menacingly.  His face is inches from yours.  You can't help yourself.  You glance down at his lips, imagining, for a second, what they would feel like on yours.

He notices.  A smirk grows on his face and you can see the cold glint of evil in his eyes.  His hand reaches up, ghosting over your injured cheek, and he crushes his lips against yours in a kiss that can only be described as punishing.  His other hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back, and he's sucking, no,  _biting_ your neck.

You let out a soft, breathy moan, almost a whisper.  He looks up at you for a moment, sneers, and yanks your dress down, pinning your already-bound arms more closely to your sides. He's biting you again, harder, finding the sensitive areas of your breasts and focusing on them.  You cry out in pain, but he only bites harder.

Somewhere inside the pain, you feel a different sensation.  Your hips start to roll and your cries of pain morph into whines of pleasure.  You wrap your arms around his chest and claw at his back through the soft silk of his shirt.  He snickers.

Suddenly you hear tearing, and your dress falls to the ground, catching on your bound wrists.  Loki deftly unties the knot and the dress falls to the floor.  You stand there, naked, rubbing your wrists.  Something compels you to turn to him, raise up on your toes, and kiss him with all the anger and fear and passion you've felt for the last weeks in your cell.

He pushes you away, though, and you slam up against the cold cell wall.

"I'm only just getting started," he whispers in your ear.  He spins you around and pins you up against the wall, tying your wrists above your head to a hook on the wall.  Behind you, you hear a belt buckle clink, and your breathing quickens. One of his hands slides between your legs and parts your thighs.  The sensation makes you gasp.  His fingers are dancing, up and down, teasingly.  You moan and buck your hips, but his hand retreats.

"No," he says, firmly. "Tell me what you know."

You grit your teeth.  "Never," you hiss.

And suddenly he's all around you, biting your neck and clutching your breasts and hitting the perfect spot inside you that makes you cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.  His pace quickens and you feel a growing, a blossoming deep inside.  You whine and buck as you try to do something, anything, to rid yourself of the strange feeling.

Still, it grows and grows until you feel you can't make it anymore.  Suddenly, you feel an explosion, rocking you to your core, and you cry out in the throes of extreme pleasure.  All of your muscles tighten and release, leaving you frozen in place as you hear His Highness, Loki of Asgard emit a low moan behind you.  His pace becomes erratic as he, too, reaches his climax.  When he pulls out of you, you go limp, supported only by your hanging wrists.  He quickly dresses and unties your wrists, binding them behind your back once more.  Your ruined dress serves as a cloth to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead, then is discarded on the floor next to you.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he says. "And don't think that this is the end of our little  _interrogation_."

You smile as he walks away, and, glancing down, you see bruises all over your chest and abdomen.  Maybe, just maybe, you think, you'll withhold information from him again tomorrow.


End file.
